We are the disco generation of climbing, boogying away on plastic holds, piercing the cliffs with fool’s gold bolts, bright in the spangled Goretex uniform of our times, and living out the marketing men’s dream.
“To climb – to move oneself upwards especially by using the hands and the feet”.
Such a staid definition does nothing to encompass joy, meditation, absorption, satisfaction, freedom, or abstraction- the metaphysical reasons why we climb. In many ways however this sterility describes the direction that “climbing” is taking. International competition may have driven the exponential explosion in climbing grades but rewards only technical prowess, the physical action of human moving upward on rock, the measurable progression of trained straining muscle and sinew.
“Mountaineering – the sport of climbing mountains”.
Sport? This is anathema- surely mountaineering is a pastime, a lifestyle, a state of mind, a lifelong three dimensional meditation on the meaning of life and of human frailties exposed best in the wild places….
We live in an increasingly risk averse society. Climbing has metamorphosed from the historical preserve of the rich, exploring classes, through a period of alternative, fringe activity, practised by the dispossessed, to now being an inclusive, healthy, leisure pursuit, supported and promoted by a government, and serviced by a thriving consumer industry which has even spawned a new breed of self improvement professional.
Ice-climbing is listed as a must-do before you die, but only on a top rope in a safe environment supervised by a qualified instructor. It has become unacceptable to take responsibility for one’s actions. When unfortunate accidents happen, these must be blamed, investigated, litigated or explained; mistakes, poor judgement, weather, conditions, gear, or worst of all, your own twisted selfish psyche for daring to risk your life alone out in the dark dangerous hills.
In this sound bite obsessed society where every experience is packaged in easily digestible diverting snippets, twittering and sport climbing are the ultimate expressions of our times. Easy access, instant gratification, objectives which are specific, measurable, achievable, time limited, safe, vain, narcissistic, you can compete, preen, impress, win, all without paying the ultimate price. It is difficult to express the complex welter of emotions encompassed in even one move on a traditional climb within the 140 characters allowed in a tweet; certainly impossible to describe the suffering, deprivation, stamina and slog of Alpinism or Himalayan endeavour in a smooth, slick slogan.
“Adventure- a bold unusually risky undertaking, hazardous action of uncertain outcome.”
The back lash must come. Surely it is only a matter of time before the prescription pill of pseudo-adrenaline offered up by the modern convenience cragging experience palls like sickly saccharine placebo and the newly awakened break for the wilderness once more.
It is our duty as temporary custodians of crag and mountain to ensure that, when the frustrated anarchic punk rock rebels break free from mass media marketed tribal conformity and head out once again for true adventure in the wild high places, we have not irrevocably altered the nature of the challenges that we chose not to face.
Disco must die!
